


deep dive

by Deisderium



Series: Stucky Bingo 2019 Fills [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Awkward Thirst, Blow Jobs, Communication, Ding Dongs, Dive Coach Steve Rogers, Getting Together, Kissing, M/M, Misunderstandings, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Skinny Dipping, Steve Rogers' Magical Shrinking Swimsuits, Swimming, Thirsty Bucky Barnes, dive team, single dad bucky barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-25
Updated: 2019-08-25
Packaged: 2020-09-26 08:36:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20386819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: Bucky knew it would be hot, so he brought a bottle of water, but the sip he takes from it does absolutely nothing to quench his thirst, because the dive team coach is a fucking mountain of muscle barely contained by a pair of floral board shorts and a white tank with low-enough armholes that Bucky can see the muscles densely packed around his ribs. His arms, it must be said, are fucking huge, and Bucky can see the bronze hairs on his forearm glinting in the sunlight even from across the pool.*In which single dad Bucky Barnes has a crush on his daughter's dive team coach and thirsts awkwardly. That's it, that's the fic.





	deep dive

**Author's Note:**

> ETA homg, Neutralchaos drew [the most amazing dive coach Steve!](https://twitter.com/Neutralchaos1/status/1166022964954820609) Please go check out the gorgeousness and admire the tiny bonus Bucky absolutely losing his mind over the water dripping off Steve. :D
> 
> ETA and [onlyreasony](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyreasony/pseuds/onlyreasony) has been kind enough to [ translate deep dive into Russian!](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8636844)

Bucky Barnes is running late.

Bucky Barnes does not run late, not where Rachel Barnes is concerned. He gets through the sign-in as quickly as he can, fumbling the gym bag with her change of clothes in it for after dive team practice. He left work early because it's her first practice; she hadn’t decided she wanted to do it until the season was a few weeks in. His daughter was nervous as hell this morning, even though she's been excited watching the big kids get to go off the high dive.

"I'm going off the big one, Daddy," had been the constant refrain the first week of summer break as she watched the kids on the dive team—the only ones allowed on the high dive—and did cannonballs off the lower diving boards. But then this morning, she'd said she didn't want to do it over her bowl of cereal, and she'd been sullen and frowning when he dropped her off for camp at the same community center where practice would be. He'd reminded her of how excited she'd been and it had sort of worked, but in the end, he'd promised to come to practice to watch her.

Which is how he finds himself poolside at four in the afternoon, sweating in his slacks and button-down shirt, watching his daughter, the light of his life, along with a gaggle of other six-to-eight-year-olds, getting instructed on proper diving form by the dive team coach.

Bucky knew it would be hot, so he brought a bottle of water, but the sip he takes from it does absolutely nothing to quench his thirst, because the dive team coach is a fucking mountain of muscle barely contained by a pair of floral board shorts and a white tank with low-enough armholes that Bucky can see the muscles densely packed around his ribs. His arms, it must be said, are fucking huge, and Bucky can see the bronze hairs on his forearm glinting in the sunlight even from across the pool.

Bucky waves to Rachel, when she notices him, and she waves back excitedly, the morning's hesitation gone like it never existed. Hot Dive Coach follows her gaze and he waves too. Bucky waves back dorkily before he can even think to question the impulse, and feels his cheeks burn. Hot Dive Coach has a blinding smile.

Hot Dive Coach is also really good with the kids. He's patient and kind, and Bucky can't hear what he's saying, but he cracks them up several times. Maybe, Bucky thinks hopefully, he's only good at little kid humor. Because if he's hot and kind and funny on top of all that, Bucky is going to melt into a puddle on the side of the pool and that will make things very difficult for Rachel, since Bucky is her sole parent.

Bucky meant to work on some projects, maybe send some emails from the poolside, but he ends up mostly watching the practice instead, and he'd be a filthy liar if he said his attention was strictly on his daughter. Towards the end of practice, Hot Dive Coach takes his shirt off and jumps up on the diving board to demonstrate a few dives for the kids. Bucky was actually checking an email and (alas) missed the disrobing, but the much louder _sproing _of an adult step on the diving board makes him look up in time to see Hot Dive Coach dive into the pool.

The perfect arc of his body against the blue of the sky and the blue pool water will be etched on the inside of Bucky's eyelids forever, and he can only be grateful. He thinks he's having some kind of religious experience. 

Then it gets worse. Hot Dive Coach swims across the pool with swift, efficient strokes and pulls himself up the ladder, water sluicing down his body. His chest is exactly as wide and even more defined than Bucky thought it might be beneath his tank top, and Bucky thinks he can see drops of water making their way down the cut notches of his Adonis belt. He'd have to get closer to be certain, but if he did that, he might also pass out, Icarus flying too close to the very hot sun.

Practice winds to a close and Bucky tells himself to get a grip so he can talk to the dive coach without wordbarfing anything humiliating. He is an adult with a job, he supports himself and his daughter, and there is no reason to feel intimidated by the scorching hot individual whose muscles appear to have muscles on them. No reason at all.

"Daddy!" Rachel yells from across the pool. He girds his loins—figuratively; come on, Barnes, stop thinking about loins—and walks over to meet his daughter and the mountain of muscle who is toweling off his torso next to her.

"Hey, sweetheart, did you have fun?" Bucky spreads his arms wide, and Rachel runs into him and wraps her own beanpole arms around him.

"It was great!" she says, and he can feel pool water soaking into his slacks, but he doesn't mind when she's grinning up at him with—

"Did you lose your tooth at camp today?" He tilts her chin so he can see the gap in her smile. Her first tooth! It's been wiggly for almost a week, and she lost it at camp. A bittersweet hook catches somewhere inside his chest cavity; he wasn't there when it came out, his baby's getting so big, too many emotions all at once.

"Actually," Hot Dive Coach says, turning to face him as he scrubs at his golden hair with the towel, "she lost it right when practice started. Here you go." He leans down to pick up a wad of paper towel in a ziploc bag, and hands it over to Bucky. "Don't want the tooth fairy to miss out on your house."

Hot Dive Coach's voice is deep and it curls in Bucky's gut. He can't not look at him while he takes the bag with Rachel's tooth, and up close he's even more...everything. His hair is streaked with paler strands, his skin is tan and smooth, and he doesn't have his shirt on, and Bucky can see every single muscle he admired from afar and there appear to be even more of them close up. Bucky isn't even going to look at his nipples, but he can't help but note in his peripheral vision that they are small and hard.

"Thanks," he says, instead of giving the guy the head-to-toe that he really wants to. He tucks the bag in his pocket and holds out his right hand. "Bucky Barnes."

"Steve Rogers." Hot Steve's hand is still cool from the water, and the pressure is firm without being a dick measuring contest. His eyelashes, Bucky notes, are really fucking long. "Rachel did great today."

"I did a jackknife," Rachel says with pride.

"I saw," Bucky tells her, and she beams at him, the gap where her tooth used to be somehow still adorable.

"I know you started a little later than everyone else," Steve says, "so if either of you have any questions, please let me know. There's usually some parent involvement in the dive meets, so you or Mrs. Barnes might want to sign up for some of the shifts." His blue eyes look guileless, and Bucky can't tell if he's just being sincere or trying to suss out whether Bucky's single. He doesn't wear a ring, but then some people don't, even if they're married.

It's probably wishful thinking, but Bucky clarifies his situation anyway. "It's just me and Rache," he says, "so let me know what you need me to do and I'll try to do it." 

"Your phone number's on the list, right? I usually send group texts out—I can catch you up that way." Steve smiles at him, and no one should have that much wattage right next to a body of water. Seems dangerous.

"Yeah, I'm on the list," Bucky says.

"Great." Steve leans down to talk directly to Rachel, and Bucky's heart skips at least two, maybe three beats. "You did really well today, Rachel. I'm happy to have you on the team. See you Thursday, okay?"

"Yes, Coach Steve!" Rachel says, and it sounds a little like _coath thteve_ with her missing tooth, and Bucky is a terrible person because he can see the way Coath Thteve's back muscles are flexing and it's giving him a very specific mental image of what that would look like from directly behind.

He clears his throat. "Thanks again, Mr. Rogers."

Steve straightens up again and grimaces. "Please, call me Steve."

"Sure," Bucky says. He takes Rachel's hand. "Thursday, right?"

"You bet," Steve says. He blinks and Bucky can't help but note—again—the length of his eyelashes. "Parents are always welcome."

🏊

Rachel is excited about her tooth and about practice. She keeps up a barrage of conversation about both throughout dinner, and Bucky can barely get in an "uh-huh" or "that's great" when she pauses for breath.

For once she actually wants to go to bed, and she brushes her teeth with minimal complaint, and he reads her a book even though she's big enough to read to herself now. She won't want him to do this forever, and the thought is more present at the forefront of his brain tonight. He hugs her a little tighter and kisses her forehead, checking again to make sure that her tooth, now safely sealed in an envelope, is tucked away under her pillow.

"The tooth fairy's coming, right, Dad?" she murmurs. "Even though I lost my tooth at the pool?"

"The tooth fairy's coming. It doesn't matter where you lose your tooth, she knows to come get it from under your pillow." Rachel yawns, and he ruffles her hair one last time. "The faster you get to sleep, the faster she can get here."

He shuts the door behind him, and goes into his office. When her tooth first started wiggling, he'd gone to the bank and gotten a stash of Sacajawea dollars for the tooth fairy to leave. He hopes it will feel more like treasure to her than a bill would. He tucks three coins into the envelope and seals it shut, ready to tuck under her pillow once he's sure she's asleep.

Then, feeling only slightly like a skeevy old man, he opens up his laptop and goes to the community center website and clicks on the tab that reads Aquatics and scrolls down to the Instructors section. Hot Steve's picture doesn't do him justice, and his bio is short and kind of bland, but there's a link to his Instagram page.

Bucky clicks.

He's made a terrible mistake.

There are inspirational quotes, swim memes that Bucky doesn't entirely understand about fly stroke, and a video that makes Bucky's mouth go completely dry. Steve, in a very small pair of shorts and nothing else, is at a park somewhere, and instead of walking on a sidewalk like a normal person, his hands are one railing and his feet are on another, and he is slowly moving in a plank walk on the railings, parallel to the ground, the muscles in his back and shoulders rippling. He hops off at the end, his friend (boyfriend? girlfriend?) filming wolf whistles, and he shoots the camera a bright, sunny grin.

Bucky watches the video five times before he decides he's inviting trouble and maybe being a creeper as well. He closes Steve's Instagram page before he can look at any other videos he might have posted.

Rachel is asleep when he checks on her. He slides the envelope with the tooth out from under her pillow, and tucks the envelope with the money in its place. Her sleeping face is smoothed out, her mouth slightly open, and she doesn't move a muscle when he drops a kiss on her forehead.

He takes the tooth, sticks it in the back of one of his desk drawers (seriously, what is he going to do with her teeth?), and shuts down his laptop for the night. Looking up Steve was a mistake. His dumb thirst crush doesn't need any encouragement.

Maybe he won't go to any more of Rachel's dive team practices.

🏊

Thursday finds him, of course, at Rachel's dive team practice. He dithered, but then Rachel asked, and, well, he knows that he wanted only the flimsiest of pretexts to see Steve again. He hasn't dated much since he and Rachel's mom split and she moved to Europe. It was an amicable divorce, and they skype weekly, and she visits once or twice a year. It's not that he's entirely been a monk, either; he's gone on some dates with men and women and he's had a few one night stands, but the fact of the matter is that he hasn't met anyone that inspired the kind of feelings that would make it worthwhile to shake up his and Rachel's routine.

And this can't be that, because he's barely talked to the man, but he can't remember ever being this physically aware of anyone, and sue him, he wants to feel that again. And maybe repeated exposure will lessen the effect that Steve has on him.

He's on time this time, and he has a chance to tell Rachel hi and make sure she has sunscreen on the line of her part so her scalp doesn't get burned. He's sitting next to her on a pool chair, rubbing suncreen onto her ears as she tries to squirm away, when a deep voice says, "Oh, good, you made it back." His heart speeds up, and he pastes on what he hopes is a polite smile, but as soon as he looks up, he can feel his face doing something stupid. He hopes to god that "panicked lust" isn't an easily readable expression.

Coach Steve is standing over him, smiling that wide smile. He's been in the water already, and a few lucky drops of water cling to the broad slope of his chest. He's wearing.... he's wearing an adult version of what the boys on the dive team wear, which are shorts that go almost to the knee, but are skin-tight. On the little boys, it's cute. On Steve, it's...well, it's really tight, that's all.

Bucky stands up so that his face isn't at Steve's crotch level, because it's rude to stare. "Of course. Wouldn't want to miss it." _It _being either his daughter's practice or the wall of muscle in front of him barely crammed into what ought to be an illegal swimsuit.

"You ready to get started, Rachel?" Steve holds out his hand and Rachel takes it without hesitation, and Bucky watches them both walk away to where the other kids are gathered. Steve's ass is round and muscular and flexes as he walks. Bucky lets out a breath and turns away to fish his tablet out of his briefcase. He briefly meets the eyes of another parent who is clearly _also _looking up from admiring Steve's everything—Karen's mom, he thinks; he's met her once or twice before—and they exchange a wordless glance of complete and utter understanding.

He does have to work, but there's something pleasant about noodling around on the design he's working on by the pool. He dressed for the heat this time, in shorts and a t-shirt, and he can move design elements around, and occasionally look up to yell encouragement at Rachel or silently thirst over Steve. It's nice.

But he shouldn't make a habit of it.

🏊

He makes a habit of it.

Rachel wants him there, and he wants to be there. So what if his dumb crush keeps getting bigger? At least Karen's mom doesn't judge.

🏊

The community center is not just where his kid goes to camp and he thirsts by the pool; it's also where Bucky goes to the gym. A few lessons with a personal trainer were included when he joined, so he knows his way around the weight machines, and he's even been to some of the group classes. As a graphic designer he spends a lot of his day sitting down so he tried to make up for his sedentary lifestyle by being a regular at the gym.

He has an afternoon meeting today so instead of timing his workout to right before pick up from camp, he goes in the morning. He warms up on the treadmill, then starts on the machines. He's on his second set on the seated leg curl machine when movement over by the free weights catches his eye.

Oh god, Hot Steve is working out too. He's doing deadlifts with a bar loaded with a weight that Bucky doesn't think he could even pick up, and he's wearing _really small_ gray shorts that are looser than his swim suit, but not by much. He has a blue tank top that might as well be suctioned onto his body, and even across the gym, Bucky can hear him grunt when he picks up the bar. It's a really good sound that Bucky will try and fail not to think about when he's jerking off, he already knows. He's had to make his peace with trying and failing not to think about Steve Rogers while getting off in the month since dive team started, honestly.

Bucky realizes he has completely stopped moving, so he gets his set going again. He's not quite done when Steve sets down the bar with another grunt, and if Bucky had any common human decency, he'd look away as Steve lifts the collar of his shirt to wipe the sweat off his face, but unfortunately he seems to have misplaced his, so he keeps watching as the hem of Steve's tank rides up to expose a sliver of his stomach, and god knows he's seen him shirtless at the pool plenty of times, but the illicitness of this glimpse, the unintentionality of it—it's sexy, and it's going to haunt him.

Bucky licks his lips, finishes his set, and goes to get a kettlebell. He's done on the weight machines, but he wants to get a few swings and snatches in before he hits the elliptical to finish up. He picks his weight then turns around and Hot Steve is _right there_ behind him, also reaching for the kettlebell rack.

"Oh, hey," Steve says. "Fancy seeing you here."

"Uh, hi," Bucky manages to get out. "I usually work out in the afternoons but I had a meeting today, so..." He trails off, feeling particularly unsmooth. Steve is so hot and standing so close, and there's sweat on his collarbone and honestly it's taking all of Bucky's self-control not to lean in and just lick it off. God, he wants to.

"Yeah?" Steve turns that megawatt smile on him. It's so bright, Bucky can't handle it. "Before camp lets out, right? You should come swim laps with me sometime. I'm at the indoor pool most days around three." He hefts up a kettlebell that is at least two sizes heavier than Bucky's. His biceps flex and just...keep flexing.

"Thanks," Bucky's mouth says, without any input from his brain, which is still hung up on the enormous arm in front of him and the potential for crushing him that it represents. "Maybe tomorrow?" If he didn't have a meeting, it would be today, even though he never works out twice in one day. He wouldn't be able to stop himself from going. He already used up all his willpower for today. He congratulates himself on not having licked Steve yet.

"Hope I see you there," Steve says, and takes his kettlebell back over to the weightlifting area. Bucky has to take a few deep breaths to settle himself down before he can even try to do his kettlebell swings.

He's meeting Steve to swim tomorrow, apparently, even though he doesn't even remember the last time he tried to swim laps. How bad can it be?

🏊

Thursday afternoon finds Bucky a few minutes early at the pool, toeing off his sandals and hanging his towel on a hook by the chairs. The indoor pool is so much quieter than the outdoor pool where the dive team meets. In fact, there's no one here right now but Bucky and an older woman doing slow, steady laps in the center lane.

He pulls out his phone and tries to look like he's doing something useful like checking his emails instead of what he's actually doing which is scrolling through his social media feeds until he hears, "Hey, Bucky!" echo off the cement walls. He tosses his phone into his gym bag and turns around.

"Hi, Steve," he manages to squeak out, and frankly he's not sure how he manages to say even that much. Steve is striding toward him, goggles dangling from his hand, wearing a frankly miniscule blue speedo. His every muscle is on display, taut abs, firm pecs, tight ass, narrow waist, and the long muscles of his thighs shifting as he walks. Bucky can't help thinking that his hands would fit perfectly over the crest of Steve's hipbones, and he prays that all of this isn't immediately visible on his face.

"You ready to swim?" Steve says, and at that moment, Bucky realizes that he is going to have to take his shirt off. Which, ordinarily, is not a problem—he's fit for a guy with a desk job, a regular at the gym, and he eats pretty well for the parent of a small child. But ordinarily, he's not standing next to Hot Steve, who's at the gym probably at least twice a day and doesn't have an ounce of fat anywhere on his body that Bucky can see—and Bucky can see most of it.

"Sure," he says anyway, because Steve is probably just being friendly in a gym bro sort of way and not consumed by unfortunate lust the way Bucky is. Bucky sucks it up and pulls his shirt off and grabs the goggles out of his bag. He's wearing a regular old pair of swim trunks that have sharks on them that he bought because they made Rachel laugh.

Steve glances at him in a non-judgmental way, but Bucky can't help feeling a little judged anyway, just standing next to him. It's okay, it's fine. His job doesn't involve working out all day and Steve's does, that's all.

He glances back and then almost swallows his tongue as Steve adjusts the waistband of his infinitesimal swimsuit and Bucky gets a glimpse of the golden slope of one magnificent ass cheek and is confronted by the fact that there is nary a tan line evident, just smooth, sun-touched skin as far as the eye can see. He sneaks a peek, and it's true of his thighs too.

Bucky entertains a brief vision of Steve on a rock like the little fucking mermaid, completely naked, but only the briefest of visions, because if he lingers on that thought he will in fact get a very noticeable boner, and he doesn't want to scandalize either Steve or the older woman still relentlessly lapping the middle lane.

"We can take the outer lanes," Steve says, and Bucky nods and follows him.

"I haven't actually done much more than splash around in the pool with Rache in ages," Bucky admits.

"I bet it'll come back to you quick," Steve says. Bucky is not quite so sure, but he slips into the water of the outside lane and Steve gets into the lane next to him. Steve gives him this encouraging little look that he absolutely can't stand, so Bucky kicks off and starts swimming. By the time he gets to the opposite end, Steve is already on his way back, and Bucky takes a moment to admire the flexing muscles of his back, the efficiency with which his arms cut through the water. Bucky starts swimming back, although he thinks the word more applicable to his movement is "paddling" or "trundling." It's definitely a workout, though; he can tell he's going to be exhausted by the time they're through.

Steve is waiting for him when he comes up for air at the wall, goggles on top of his head. Bucky pushes his own goggles up and frowns. "Hey, don't wait for me—I'll slow you way down," he tells Steve.

Steve puts a hand on the back of his own neck, which makes his bicep bulge again. Is he blushing? Bucky can't tell with the water's blue reflection on his skin. "Look, I don't want to overstep, but...your stroke is making this a little harder on your body than it needs to be."

_Yes, Steve, _Bucky thinks. _Tell me about how my stroke is making my body hard_. But he manages not to say it. Instead, he says, "Hey, you're not on the clock—you don't have to give me a lesson."

"But if you don't like the workout, you might not come back." Steve smiles at him and Bucky knows that he is irrevocably fucked. How can he resist anything Steve says when he's going to go and be sincere and direct at him like that?

"Okay," Bucky says weakly, "show me what I'm doing wrong." 

"Your arms are going to the sides too far. Try to keep them lined up like this." Steve takes off for a few strokes, and Bucky watches the movements of his arms as instructed. He can see how Steve's movements look good and his own feel more awkward but he's not sure how to translate what he sees Steve doing right into his own motions.

"All right, your turn," Steve says, and then watches him take a few strokes. He stops, then turns back. Steve's frowning a little.

"That's still a little..." Steve ducks under the lane divider and comes closer to Bucky. "Can I touch you to show you what I mean?"

In some ways this is Bucky's most ardent dream of the last month, and in some ways it is a nightmare, because Steve putting his hands on Bucky's body is a thought that he has visited repeatedly in that time, but also he doesn't want in any way to get a boner and have Steve notice it if this is in fact gym bro bonding time. "Sure," he says, despite this conundrum.

Steve gets him floating face-down, and then manhandles his arms how he wants them to go. Bucky can feel the difference in the way he's moving, the way his hands hit the water. He tried to focus on that rather than on the slippery feel of Steve's hands over his skin.

"Here, try it a couple more times without kicking," Steve says, and then slides his arms under Bucky's chest to support him.

Bucky's stupid crush has just gotten twenty times stronger and his heart is shrieking like an excited steam whistle, but he manages to move his arms the way Steve wants him to.

"That's good, Bucky, you're doing great," Steve says, and Bucky doesn't expire right there in his arms, but it's close. Steve sets him down after that and gets back in his lane. "Let's try it again."

Bucky pushes off at the same time as Steve, and it's not like he's as fast as him, and it's not like they're racing, but he's not lagging behind like he was the first time, and it _feels _better. It's not as much strain on his shoulders, and he's moving more quickly through the water. 

Steve's waiting for him again at the wall, but he's smiling hugely.

"That was great, Bucky," he says earnestly, and Bucky can't help but duck his head.

They swim some more laps—well, Steve swims, like, an assload of laps. Bucky swims another six and decides that he's done, because he will literally die of lung explosion if he swims any more, and does some stretches in the shallow end while Steve finishes up.

"That was great, thank you," Steve says when he's done. He's breathing a little hard, his massive chest heaving with his breaths. "I'm here most days if you want to join me again."

"Thanks," Bucky says, and he's weak, because he knows with utter certainty that he will indeed be joining him again.

🏊

Rachel is nervous the morning of her first dive meet.

"I don't hafta go," she says.

Bucky takes a sip of his coffee and looks up from where he's scrambling her some eggs to go with her toast and bacon. "Do you want to go?"

"Ye-es," she says in a way that really sounds like _no_. "But my tummy feels funny."

"Do you remember the first day of practice? How you didn't want to go, but when you did, you had fun?"

"I remember," she says.

Bucky scoops the eggs out onto two plates and pulls the toast and bacon out of the oven where they've been left to warm. "Wouldn't you be sad if you missed out on something fun because you were nervous?"

"Yeah, but, Dad." She looks up at him, eyes big and round, their hazel shade the exact halfway between his blue and her mother's brown. "What if I mess up?"

"Oh, sweet pea." He sets her plate down and slides into the seat opposite her with his own. "Do you like diving? Is it fun?"

"Yeah." She pokes her eggs with her fork suspiciously.

"As long as you have fun, it doesn't matter if you mess up."

"Really?"

"Pinky promise." He reaches across the table so she can link her finger into his. "Let's eat up so we can get going. We don't want to be late."

Two hours later finds them at the pool and Bucky doing his mandatory turn running the concession stand while the older kids go, before Rachel's turn. She's sitting with her friends, talking and watching the other kids go off the diving board, while Bucky grills and sells hot dogs and hands out candy for fifty cents.

By the time it's Rachel's turn to dive, Karen's mom has relieved him at the grill, and he hoofs it to the other end of the pool so he can watch his baby on the board.

She looks so small up there, in her regulation swimsuit. She looks to Steve, and Bucky can't help but look there too. Steve is focused on Rachel, and he doesn't do anything like give her any kind of obvious sign, but he watches her, and she nods and walks up on the diving board. She is so intent, her brow wrinkled in a way that Bucky recognizes from the mirror. She walks to the end of the diving board, takes a deep breath, and dives. 

Bucky's no expert, but even he can see that it's not great. She doesn't enter the water gracefully; she does more of a belly flop. Bucky winces a little, because he doesn't want his baby to get hurt, but when she comes out of the water, Steve leans in and says something, and Bucky can't hear it, but he knows it's encouraging because of the way Rachel's spine straightens.

She goes back to the boards two more times, and it's just as bad every time, and he can see that she's sniffling next to her friends, and there's nothing he can do until it's over. He cheers for her teammates when he can, but all he really wants to do is hug his daughter, so as soon as the whole thing is over, he threads his way through the crowd to get Rachel in his arms.

She wraps her arms around his waist and buries her face in his belly button. "Hey, sweet pea," he says, threading his fingers through her hair. "You did good." She digs her face further into his belly, and is she crying? He pats her back as the other kids make their way around them. Steve is talking to the lifeguard, but somehow his gaze finds Bucky anyway, and he nods in a way that Bucky finds himself waiting for Steve while he's comforting Rachel. All he can do is keep telling her that she did well regardless of what the scores said, that she got up there and tried and that counts for something.

Eventually she stops sniffling and he's able to sit on one of the pool chairs and pull her into his lap. His knees absorb the pool water but he doesn't care. He tucks her head beneath his chin and wraps her towel around her shoulders.

"I know you're sad," he tells her, "but I'm proud of you. You were scared, and you did it anyway, and that counts for a lot."

"I wanted to do good," Rachel wails to his knees.

"I know, baby," he tells her, despite knowing that she's too big to be called baby. "What if we go get pizza?"

She sniffs. "At Home Slice?" The pizza place with the vintage arcade machines, of course. That's okay—he's got quarters in the car.

"Sure, Rache." She perks up a little, and then Steve is there, dropping into a squat to talk to Rachel on her level.

"You did a really good job out there, and I'm proud of you,” he says seriously, and Bucky's heart gives a little flip.

"But I messed up," she says, and her lower lip is wobbling.

"Everyone messes up sometimes, but it was your first time and now you know what it's like. It'll be a thousand times easier next time."

"It will?" She straightens up

"Now you know what to expect." Steve cocks his head. "You'll be fine."

"And even if I don't, Dad'll take me for pizza." She looks up at Bucky. "Right?"

"Of course," Bucky says.

"Pizza, huh?" Steve miles and straightens up.

"You should come with us." Bucky doesn't even mean to say it—it just happens. "I mean, you're probably busy," he tries to backtrack.

But Steve's smile only gets wider. "Yeah, I'd love to. I'm just going to hop in the shower and change. Where are we going?"

"Home Slice!" Rachel takes Bucky's hand.

"I'll see you there." Steve shoots them fingerguns and heads off, presumably to shower, which is a mental image Bucky can't let himself linger on.

"Come on, sweet pea," he says to Rachel. "Let's get you changed so we can get some pizza."

🏊

They beat Steve to the pizza place. Bucky sets Rachel up with a cup of quarters and orders a beer while he waits. He pulls out his phone to finish an article he was reading but he can't focus so he ends up playing the surprisingly soothing cat game instead.

He's very focused on rearranging the cat toys in his virtual yard when a deep voice says, "Hey there," and he looks up to see Steve smiling down at him. This is a very trying time for his heart because as wonderful as Steve looks in his minuscule swimsuits and his tiny workout clothes, he's just as if not moreso beautiful in a pair of tight jeans and a blue t-shirt that strains across his chest. Bucky's mouth goes dry. Why didn't he change too, into something that he didn't spend all day sweating by the pool in?

"Have a seat." Bucky waves at the three empty chairs around the table. "I've lost Rache to Centipede for the time being."

Steve laughs and slides into the chair right next to Bucky's. He leans forward, and Bucky can feel the heat from his body in the closest arm. "Is she doing all right? She seemed pretty upset after the meet."

"I think she's going to be fine." Bucky takes a pull off his beer, sets the bottle down on the table. "What you said really helped."

Steve ducks his head to the side. "It was only what you already told her."

"Yeah, well. Sometimes I think it counts for more hearing it from someone who's not her dad, so thank you."

Steve actually blushes, and Bucky's heart grows three sizes, and, look, he knew he was fucked already, but he is _super _fucked now. He just likes everything about Steve, and spending more time with him is not helping his dumb crush at all.

Luckily the waiter comes back and asks what Steve wants to drink and saves Bucky from saying any of that out loud. He doesn't even know if Steve likes dudes, much less regular dad dudes who don't look like they're carved from marble by the loving hand of a master sculptor.

Steve gets a beer, Rachel comes back for more quarters, and eventually they get a small bacon pizza for Rachel (and for both of them to steal pieces from,) and a chicken and pesto for the two of them to split.

The conversation is light and easy, and Steve is great with Rachel—not surprising, considering that his job is working with kids, but it's just so _nice _to have another adult to talk to, and to have that adult talk to Rachel like what she has to say matters instead of like he's humoring her. Bucky is having a hard time not spinning out little domestic fantasies: conversations like this over breakfast, in his house...

_Act like you have some chill, Barnes_, he tells himself, but it's tough when they split the leftovers and say their goodbyes outside the restaurant, Rachel holding onto his waist, Steve saying he'll see him at the pool.

And it's tough over the next month, between the practices, and the twice-weekly swimming dates with Steve, and the occasional inviting him back to Bucky's house to grill, and, look, the fact of the matter is that Bucky's life has become awfully involved with Steve's, and dive team is coming to an end with the end of the summer. 

He wants to believe that he's not the only one feeling this, but he doesn't know. He guesses he'll find out at the end of the season, because the ones thing he's certain of is that he doesn't want to let this thing between them go. Not without trying to keep it, whatever it ends up being.

Rachel is never the stand out star of any dive meet, but she does so much better than the first one every time, and he's so impressed with her improvement. By the time the final meet rolls around, she's confident when she gets to the board, and while she still looks small up there, she runs to the end of the board and does what looks to his untrained and loving eye to be a perfect forward dive, slicing into the water with only the tiniest splash.

He glances at Steve and it feels natural and right when Steve catches his eye and they share a proud grin.

He thinks he'll take Rachel out for pizza again, maybe see if Steve wants to come with them; after the meet, Steve catches his eye, but then gives an apologetic grimace as one of the officials catches him to talk about something. Bucky takes Rachel to change, and he hangs around the locker room doors for a few minutes in case Steve is changing clothes, but she's excited about pizza and he can't make her wait too long.

It sucks that he can’t find Steve, but it's not like they had plans, not even vague "let's do something after the meet" type of plans.

He holds Rachel's hand as they cross the parking lot, and her excited babble about Centipede goes silent in his ears as he sees Steve across the parking lot, enthusiastically hugging a very handsome dark-skinned man. Bucky can see how wide both of their smiles are, the charming gap in the other man's grin.

_Oh_, Bucky thinks, _oh_.

The other man is just as muscular and built as Steve is, and it makes sense that he would be with someone like that, someone with shared interests, and who's just as handsome. They both look so happy, beaming at each other, and Bucky turns toward his car so Steve won't see him and introduce him to his boyfriend. He can do it, he can be polite and happy for Steve, but not when his disappointment is so fresh and feels so raw; when all the carefully built castles he's constructed in his head have turned out to be made of nothing but sand.

He makes himself set it all aside so he can tell Rachel how well she did and how proud he is, because it's all true and she deserves it. He listens to her talk through the meet three times and if his smile gets a little strained when she mentions Coach Steve, he’ll never let her see it. It was all in his head, anyway.

He only lets himself feel the sting of it when she goes to play the arcade games, how much he wanted it to be more than it was. He lets himself wallow, and then he tells himself that Steve's still his friend, and that's not a second prize for romance.

By the time the pizza gets there, he tells himself he's mostly over it, and if he's a little quieter than usual, Rachel is exuberant enough for the both of them.

🏊

Bucky thinks that maybe he needs to back off a little, not spend so much time with Steve—just until he gets his own emotions under control. He texts him to let him know he won't be able to make their usual swimming days this week, and he had kind of moved some of his workout times around to coincide with Steve's, so he moves them back to the old times; and there isn't dive practice twice a week and meets every third weekend, so he doesn't run into him at the pool. In trying to—not _avoid_, that sounds so juvenile—in trying to establish some emotional boundaries and give himself space to untangle his own hopeless feelings, he realizes just how much of his routine this summer had revolved around Steve.

And how lonely he is without him.

It doesn't make sense—he wasn't lonely before he met him. He had work and Rachel and the few close friends he gets together with, and he was perfectly content. And he still has all those things! Only now, they're somehow lacking.

It's like he's lonely for Steve specifically. The thing that's lacking is him.

He really thought it would be better after a week. That he'd have had time to reconcile his feelings with reality and make peace with the fact that his dumb crush isn't meant to be.

Steve's texted him a few times over the week, mostly teasing him about missing their workouts. Bucky has sent the most noncommittal replies he can force himself to, and it seems to be working. It's Friday, and he hasn't heard from Steve all day, not since his own last weak reply yesterday.

The weekend stretches out in front of him, empty and endless. _It's two days_, _Barnes_, he tells himself. _Don't be so dramatic_. But it doesn't work, because it doesn't feel dramatic to be this sad about losing this thing, this relationship that he was never going to have anyway. It didn't exist to mourn, but he feels like he's grieving something much bigger than a might-have-been.

He and Rachel have eaten and sat down on the couch to watch _Moana_, which they have seen approximately fifty-five thousand times, and which Rachel is going to watch, rapt, for time fifty-five thousand and one, while Bucky sits next to her and checks Twitter or reads a book or anything that will distract him from his overblown heartache and the earworms that at least half the songs give him.

They are barely to “How Far I’ll Go” when the doorbell rings. Bucky heaves himself up, frowning; they're not expecting anyone. Rachel barely even notices him leave, singing along with, “No one knows how far I’ll goooooooo.”

"Steve," he says when he opens the door, because that's who's standing there. In the flesh, holding a six-pack of Bucky's favorite local pale ale, a t-shirt struggling over his chest, his legs wrapped in tight jeans, his expression hard to read. Bucky's pulse is suddenly rapid-fire, his heart full of some unsustainable mix of hope and despair, because backing off has done nothing at all to get him over his crush.

"I texted," Steve says, "but when you didn't answer, I thought I'd just stop by."

Bucky slaps his back pocket automatically, but it's empty. "I must have left my phone in the kitchen. Rachel and I were watching a movie."

The tension in Steve's shoulders eases, at least a little. "I wasn't sure, after this week." Bucky's cheeks burn, and he knows he's blushing, but even as he opens his mouth to respond, Steve gives a little shake of his head and continues. "I figured something else was upsetting you, or else I did something, and either way, I thought you could probably use a beer. Can I come in?"

Bucky wordlessly opens the door and waves Steve in, because his heart is so full that if he speaks, everything he's feeling will come tumbling out.

"Rachel's watching a movie?" Steve breaks two cans off the six pack and puts the rest in the fridge, and the familiarity with which he moves around Bucky's kitchen tugs at Bucky’s heart. He looks so at home there.

"Yeah," Bucky says around the lump in his throat, and nods his head toward the living room, where the sounds of Rachel singing along are drifting out.

"So which is it?" Steve hands him a beer. "Is something bothering you, or did I do something wrong? I missed you this week."

Bucky opens the beer automatically, all his feelings raw and at the surface. "You didn't do anything," he says slowly. "It's definitely me."

Steve's eyes narrow as he takes a swig of his beer and sets the can down in the counter. He leans back against the cabinets and hooks his thumbs into his belt loops. Bucky has to close his eyes for a second because Steve looks like everything he's ever wanted.

"Maybe it's something I can help you with," Steve says when Bucky opens his eyes, and maybe it's just Bucky's imagination, but his voice seems an octave lower.

"You don't have to do that," Bucky says.

"Maybe I want to." Steve smiles at him, and it's so gentle and so affectionate that Bucky's heart breaks all over again.

"I really don't think you do," Bucky finds himself saying, and Steve unhooks his thumbs from his belt loops, steps forward until he's in Bucky's space and Bucky can feel his pulse in his throat, fast and steady.

"Why on earth would you think that?" Steve is so close and his eyes are so blue, and there's the slightest furrow in his brow, like he's really concerned about what Bucky might answer.

Bucky takes a sip of his beer to give himself time to decide how honest he wants to be, but fuck it. It's not like sitting on his feelings has felt good, and he's worried Steve enough to come over here. If Steve's going to be put off by his feelings or feel sorry for him, at least it'll be out in the open and maybe that'll be a better way of putting it behind him than Bucky just avoiding Steve and pretending he doesn't have those feelings at all.

"I like you a lot," Bucky says. The furrow between Steve's eyebrows smooths out a little and Bucky blunders on. "I know you have a lot going on and I'm just—"

"You're not 'just' anything," Steve says before Bucky can detail the ways he's not as great as Steve. "I like you too." And then he closes the distance between them and presses a kiss against Bucky's lips. It's sweet and chaste, and Steve's lips are as soft as Bucky ever imagined they would be, and it feels so good and so right that for a minute he just lets himself go with it, Steve's hands pressed flat against his back, his own hands curled around Steve's waist, both their mouths tasting of beer.

It's so good that for a long moment, Bucky can't remember what he was upset in the first place. Steve's mouth opens a little and Bucky deepens the kiss almost without meaning to, licking along Steve's lower lip. Steve inhales sharply, and the sound ignites a flicker of desire that pulls Bucky back into himself.

"Wait," he says, and Steve pulls back immediately, eyes searching Bucky's.

"What is it? Is it Rachel?" Steve glances toward the living room.

Bucky brings his attention back with a gentle flex of his hands on the warm muscle of Steve's sides. "No. I just—you're not seeing anyone else?"

Steve's eyes snap back to his. "No. I'm not."

Bucky feels like an idiot, but Steve might as well know how much of an idiot he is if they're going to do this. "I, uh. I saw you with someone who looked like a very close friend and I guess I made some assumptions."

"Oh," Steve says. "_Oh_." He cups one hand along Bucky's jawline. "I haven't tried to date anyone else since I met you." While Bucky is still trying to process that, Steve leans in and kisses him again, and it's so tender that Bucky wants to fall apart a little bit. "You can always ask me anything you want to know," Steve says against his lips. "You don't have to guess."

"Okay." Bucky presses a kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth and presses his whole body against Steve's. The sting of his having been a dumbass is fading, buried beneath an avalanche of happiness because Steve likes him too and kissing him is _great_. "Can I take you to dinner?"

Steve draws back just far enough to smile at him. "Are you asking me on a date?"

"I think I just did."

"Yeah, Bucky, I'd love to go to dinner with you." And there's really no response Bucky can make to that besides to kiss him again, and maybe it gets a little more intense after that, but Steve's hands feel so good wandering along Bucky's sides, and his mouth fits perfectly along Bucky's.

"Tomorrow night," Bucky says breathlessly after a while. "If you're free." His entire body feels like nothing more than a conduit for desire right now, even though they've been doing nothing more than making out like teenagers. He'll find a babysitter somehow.

"I'm free." Bucky is delighted to note that Steve's voice isn't entirely steady either.

"Daddy, I'm out of popcorn," Rachel says, and Bucky barely gets his hands off Steve, jumping back a little in surprise, before she walks into the kitchen with a bowl empty of everything but unpopped kernels.

Bucky clears his throat. He can feel himself blushing even though he doesn't think Rachel saw anything. "Sure, sweet pea, I'll get you some more in just a second."

As he walks to the pantry to get more popcorn, resolutely thinking of anything except how fucking fantastic it felt to touch Steve, he hears her say, "Hi, Coach Steve, I didn't know you were here."

"I came in while the movie was on." Steve's voice is so much lower than hers.

"It's still on," she tells him. "I paused it so Daddy could make more popcorn."

Bucky emerges from the pantry, popcorn in hand, and gets out the pot and the oil. "And I'm making it," he tells her as he scoops out the kernels. Steve shoots him a smile.

“I’ve never seen anyone make popcorn in a pan before,” Steve says.

“This is how we always make it,” Rachel says.

“We used to make it in the microwave,” Bucky tells them both. “But one time someone gave us a jar of popcorn, and I had to google how to make it, but Rachel loved it.” He turns to her. “You were so little, and the popping sounds cracked you up. I tried to make it in the microwave again after that, but you were so disappointed, I had to go back to the stovetop. And it tastes better this way.”

He gives the pan a shake as the first kernel pops, and then his attention is on making sure the popcorn doesn’t scorch as Steve and Rachel chat in the background. He doesn’t exactly listen to what they say, but the cadence of their voices is soothing and, he feels like the luckiest man in the world.

Later, when the popcorn is eaten and the beers are drunk and _Moana_ is over and Rachel has been put to bed, Bucky kisses Steve goodbye at the door. It’s a sweet kiss, little more than the press of lips against lips, but he can feel the desire that swept him before waiting. It wouldn’t take much to bring it surging back through him. He breaks away before it can, pressing his forehead against Steve’s for just a second.

“Until tomorrow?” Steve smiles at him like he knows what Bucky’s thinking, and maybe he does.

“Until tomorrow,” Bucky says, and stands in his doorway grinning like a fool as Steve walks to his car and salutes him sloppily before he drives off.

That feeling of happiness, of luck, is a low fire in his chest, warming him all night long.

🏊

Bucky is lucky enough to get the Maximoff girl to babysit, even on less than twenty-four hours’ notice. She’s home from college for summer, about to head back to college, and happy to pick up a little extra cash before the semester starts. He’s going to give her an extra twenty for being so accommodating, even though she didn’t ask for it.

“Rache, you get to see Wanda tonight,” he tells Rachel over breakfast. “She’s going to babysit you tonight, and you guys can get pizza if you want.”

There’s the expected celebration—Rachel loves Wanda, and Wanda promised she would paint her toenails for her; Bucky has gotten pretty good at giving little girl mani-pedis, but Wanda has color-changing polish and he’s resigned himself to coming in second place—but then she wants to know what he’s doing.

He decides to stick to the truth, or at least a child-friendly version of it. He hasn’t really dated much since Rachel’s been in his life, and never anyone seriously enough that he’d considered introducing them to Rachel. But not only do things feel different with Steve, like he could be very serious about him, like he already fits into their lives, Rachel already knows Steve. He’s never dated anyone she already knew.

“I’m going out with Coach Steve,” he tells her.

“Oh,” she says. “Can I come too?” Because of course every other time they’ve grabbed dinner or Steve’s come over, it’s been the three of them. He hesitates, trying to think of the best way to say it.

“Not this time, because I want to talk about grown-up things with Steve, and I don’t want you to be bored. I know you and Wanda will have a much better time.”

“Like when you go to the grown-up movies without me,” she says slowly.

“Exactly, sweet pea,” he tells her. “Sometimes we go to see movies that we both like—” This is a fib; only truly selfless love could get him to sit through _Boss Baby_ with her and then pretend to have enjoyed it as much as she did. “—and sometimes there are movies that you might like when you’re older but you probably won’t yet.”

“But Coach Steve still likes me, right?” There’s a tiny line between her brows that he’s seen in the mirror a thousand times, and he curses whatever he said that might have made her question that.

“Of course he does, Rache.” He leans over to ruffle her hair. “You know how you have playdates sometimes when you meet a new friend? This is a grown-up version of that. I want to be better friends with Steve, so we’re going to spend more time together.”

She bats his hand away from his hair. “As long as next time I get to come with you.”

“We’ll see,” he says. Then, as a desperate attempt to change the subject, “What kind of pizza do you and Wanda want?”

🏊

Bucky’s a little nervous about seeing where Steve lives. He doesn't even know why.

He pulls up at the address Steve gave him, which is a little ranch-style house in a neighborhood of little ranch-style houses. He's both excited and disappointed when Steve steps out when he pulls up; Steve was waiting for him, which, _yes_!, but also he wanted to see the inside of Steve's house to see what Steve likes to have around himself.

Bucky gets out to open the car door for Steve, and has to swallow before he can speak. Most of the times that he's seen Steve, he's been dressed very casually, either in swimsuits or in shorts and t-shirts. Now he's wearing fitted slacks and a blue button-down shirt that makes the startling blue of his eyes even more obvious. The buttons of his shirt are doing yeoman's work straining across his chest, and his sleeves are trying their best to contain his biceps.

All of that is_ really nice_ and Bucky appreciates it deeply on both an aesthetic level and a thirsty one, but even better is the way Steve lights up and leans in to kiss Bucky before he slides into the car. Bucky feels like he's floating on air as he walks back to the driver's seat.

"I thought we could go someplace besides a pizza joint," he tells Steve as he presses the ignition.

"I like pizza joints, but I can be flexible," Steve says, smiling at him, and Bucky's heart gives a little thump, or possibly that's his dick, because _he bets _Steve is very flexible indeed.

He takes Steve to his favorite sushi place because Rachel hates sushi and he rarely gets to go. They order a bottle of wine and squid salad to start. Steve leans into the conversation as they chat about their respective days (Steve still works as the director of the swim program over the fall and winter months—Bucky had wondered what he did when he wasn't coaching the dive team) and his body language is so open, so tilted toward Bucky that it lights up some nerves inside Bucky's body, a tingling, light-headed sensation that should leave him dizzy, but somehow leaves him more present, focused on Steve's every move.

It isn't anticipation of sex—or not _only _anticipation of sex; Bucky just really likes Steve. He likes talking to him, he likes listening to him, he likes the way his smile lights up his face. He even likes the way he jams a whole spider roll in his mouth, and what does that say? 

That he's downright besotted, he suspects. 

They've just ordered another round of rolls when Bucky's phone buzzes where he left it on the table. His heart sinks when he glances down and sees Wanda's name on the screen.

"Just a second," he tells Steve.

"Hi Mr. Barnes," Wanda says breathlessly as soon as he answers the phone. "I hate to interrupt, but Rachel just threw up."

For one selfish second, Bucky just wants to sigh, because he's having such a good time and he wants to stay out with Steve, see where their night might go. But Rachel needs him and it's not fair to leave Wanda with a sick child.

"Just once or more than that?" he asks. "I'll be there as soon as I can."

"It's twice now," Wanda says, "and she barely touched her pizza."

Bucky thanks her and hangs up, and then he does let himself sigh, just a tiny exhalation of breath before he looks up to meet Steve's concerned gaze.

"Rachel's sick?"

"Yeah, she threw up. I'm sorry to cut our night short—"

"Don't worry about it." Steve smiles at him. "We'll just have to do it again."

Bucky settles the bill, while the waiter brings out their order of eel rolls and salmon nigiri boxed to go. Steve picks up the box and then they're walking out the door.

"I can drop you home," Bucky says.

"Don't be silly, it's out of your way," Steve says. "I can just get an Uber, or..." He pauses and Bucky can't help but bite his lip. Steve rarely hesitates. "I could come with you." Steve shoots him a glance.

"You want to come back to my house where my daughter is vomiting?" Bucky knows he sounds skeptical.

"I like her," Steve says simply. "And I like you. I don't want the night to be over. We can get her settled, maybe eat this." He hefts the box. "And if she's really bad and you don't want company, I can catch an Uber from there just as easily as from here."

"Really?" Bucky says.

"Yeah, why not?" Steve shoots him a smile. "It's not the evening we had in mind, but I won't say no to time spent with you."

He says it casually, like it's no big deal, but Bucky feels staggered. He has to stop right there and kiss Steve, quick and light, because Rachel is waiting, but he can't _not _kiss Steve when he says something like that. Bucky draws back and tells him, "I like you too," and then he unlocks the car and pulls the door open.

Steve smiles at him, his teeth white and even in the shadows of the evening, and happiness swells inside Bucky's chest, floating up into the night like a loose balloon.

He takes Steve back to his and Rachel's home. He tips Wanda more than he originally planned to make up for the barfing, and then he goes to see his little girl. Rachel is on her side in her bed with a big mixing bowl to the side of the bedframe in case she can’t make it to the bathroom. He crouches down beside her.

"Hey, sweet pea," he says quietly. She turns her head toward him. How does she manage to be both pale and flushed at the same time? 

"How're you feeling?"

"My tummy hurts," she says. He brushes her sweaty hair off her forehead. She feels clammy, not feverish. This is, unfortunately, not his first time at the stomach bug rodeo, so he's not exactly worried, he just wishes he could make her feel better.

"You think you could take some water?" Wanda said she hadn't thrown up again since she called, but Bucky knows better than to think that it's over.

"Yuck," Rachel says. And then, hopefully, "Popsicle?"

"You feel like coming in the kitchen, I'll get you a popsicle."

She thinks about it. "In a little while? I'm really tired."

"Okay," he says. "I'll be ready when you are. Get some rest, it helps your body get better."

"I know, Daddy," she says, her eyelids drifting a little lower.

He pulls the sheet up and makes sure the bowl is where she can reach it but not close enough that she'll hit it if she rolls out of bed—it's been years since she's done that, but better safe than sorry, right?—and flicks the lightswitch off as he leaves her room.

He rolls his shoulders, trying to disperse the tension. He's not really worried that it's anything serious, but he's never able to keep from worst-case what ifs when something's wrong with her. They plague the back of his mind, and they did even when he wasn't the sole person responsible for her well-being.

Steve is waiting in the kitchen, Wanda having left. He's playing with his phone, but he sets it down when Bucky comes in.

"Is she okay?" he asks.

"She'll be fine," Bucky says. "I don't think it's anything serious, just a stomach bug. She doesn't have a fever."

"Good," Steve says.

"I'm sorry to end our night early."

Steve looks up in surprise, and the corner of his mouth curls into a smile. "Me too, but what else were you going to do?"

Bucky doesn't have an answer to that, so he pulls a couple of beers out of the fridge and offers Steve one, and they eat the rest of the sushi. Conversation is easy with Steve—it always is—and they kiss now and then. Nothing heavy—it's not leading to anything with half Bucky's ear on any noise from Rachel's room—but it's just nice to touch Steve, to want him and feel wanted back. Bucky thinks he could do this all day, if he had the chance.

It gets late, and Bucky really wishes he could ask Steve to stay over, curl up around him in his bed, wake up next to him; but Rachel would have a lot of questions that he's not prepared to answer. Steve Ubers home a little after midnight and all Bucky can think is how it ended up being the perfect night anyway, and how much he hopes they can do it again sometime soon.

🏊

Steve doesn't make him wait; not that _he _was going to make _Steve _wait, either, but Steve texts him Saturday morning before he's even thought to make a next move

_dinner at my place,_ the text reads. _pick a day this week._

Bucky's first impulse is to immediately write back _tonight_, possibly in all caps and with heart emojis, but he's not leaving Rachel while she still might be sick. He does text Wanda asking her what her availability is that week, and as soon as she replies, he texts Steve _How does Weds sound? _

He gets five thumbs-up emojis in a row not thirty seconds later, and then Wednesday can't come quickly enough.

He sees Steve at the gym in between and for their usual swim on Tuesday. It definitely takes a little longer than usual to do their laps, because they have to stop every once in a while to kiss over the lane divider, never mind the chlorine.

When they get out of the pool, the elderly lady in the middle lane stops her slow, relentless laps to shove her goggles up onto her forehead and yell, "Finally!" at them, which makes Bucky blush and Steve collapse into laughter, clutching one giant hand over his left pec.

"Hey," Steve says as they part with one more kiss, Steve for whatever Swimming Director duty he has, Bucky for a shower before he goes back to work, "I'm looking forward to tomorrow night.

"Yeah," Bucky says, with a smile he can't control and doesn't really want to. "Me too."

Wednesday afternoon finds him changing shirts four times before he finds one that satisfies him as being casual enough for dinner at Steve's house but nice enough that it makes him look like he cared enough to dress up. It's Steve; just because things are easy between them doesn't mean he doesn't want to make an effort too.

"How do I look?" he asks Rachel, for the fourth time.

"Good, Daddy," she says perfunctorily, and returns to her coloring. He can't blame her; she's told him he looked good four times and he's ignored her four times.

"You're gonna have fun with Wanda tonight?" he asks her.

"We're having pancakes for dinner." She scribbles in the corner of the page. "What are you having?"

"I don't know. I think Steve is making me something."

"It's probably not as good as pancakes," she proclaims, and he leans down to get his goodnight kiss a little early just as the doorbell rings.

After he tells Wanda and Rachel goodbye and that he'll be home by midnight, he drives to Steve's house, and the sense of anticipation is like actual butterflies storming his stomach, what the fuck. It's Steve! They have a great time every time they hang out. He doesn't need to be nervous.

But he is. He just likes Steve so much, and he doesn't want to fuck this up, and he's aware that maybe, _maybe_, this time they'll do more than kiss, and the thought of that has him feeling like a teenager sneaking out instead of an adult—a parent! theoretically responsible!—going out on a date with a hot guy who seems, for whatever inexplicable reason, to find him attractive too.

He rings the doorbell, a bottle of slightly more than reasonably priced Malbec clutched in his hand. He doesn't know if it goes with whatever Steve is making for dinner, but it really doesn't matter. If they don't drink it with dinner tonight, they can have it with something else.

Bucky hopes, anyway. He thinks this thing is strong enough between them to last. He wants it to. 

And maybe that's putting on too much on what is, really, their first real date. First and a half? Maybe the second? Dating as a parent is complicated, but Steve has just rolled with the complications, and that does something for Bucky too.

The door swings open, and Steve is smiling out of the doorway, his face lit up at seeing Bucky there. He's wearing a green short-sleeved button-down shirt, and a pair of jeans that seem to have been painted on. He looks good—he always looks good—but it's how wide his smile is and the way it reaches his eyes that really gets Bucky. That look right there—that's for him.

"Come on in," Steve says, and swoops forward to give Bucky a quick kiss and take the wine from him. It's very domestic, but also an entire flutter of butterflies has taken up residence in his stomach and he feels nervous or shy or something that's not usually how he feels around Steve. He's not sure why, except he is; they're alone. Anything could happen. The night is ripe with potential.

Including the potential for Wanda to call him about Rachel being sick again, but he really hopes that won't happen.

"Let me give you the tour." Steve sets the bottle down in the kitchen and then takes him through his house. It's smaller than Bucky's place, but the way it's furnished is homey and sophisticated at the same time. There's not a beige or gray wall to be seen, but sage green in the living room, blue in the kitchen, and Steve's decorated with framed prints and menus and photographs. It's all very much more put together than Bucky's home, which is decorated in crayon drawings and toys on the floor, and it's so soothing that Bucky feels his shoulders lower a little.

There's a hallway leading back to the bedrooms—"bathroom's that way too"—and a little mudroom leading to the backyard where—

"This is really why I bought the house," Steve says, but he's not looking at the yard, he's watching Bucky, looking as he takes it in.

Bucky's throat is tight as he looks over the big-ass saltwater pool crammed into the yard of this little house. There's not much yard left around the pool, but it doesn't matter, because the sunset is turning the reflections in the water pink and purple, and it's honestly just beautiful. The thought of Steve swimming here in all the color is giving Bucky a feeling vaster and sweeter than his chest can contain.

"It's spectacular," Bucky manages. "You swim out here every day?"

"As much as I can," Steve says. "Maybe we can try it out after dinner."

Bucky shoots him a look, and Steve's smile has a wicked edge to it. "I didn't bring a suit."

Steve shrugs, and his lips curl a little higher. "What a shame."

They eat on the back deck, overlooking the pool. Steve grills skewers of zucchini and onion and mushrooms, fillets of salmon on planks, and Bucky opens the wine he brought. The food is delicious, but what's better is Steve smiling at him across the table as they talk about whatever crosses their mind. 

"How did you get into swimming?" Bucky asks between bites of salmon.

Steve shrugs. "You might not believe it now, but I was a pretty scrawny kid. I wanted to play sports, but I pretty much sucked at all of them. I had a bunch of medical problems."

"Are you okay now?" Bucky can't imagine Steve as a skinny kid, but that's not his main concern. The bulk of Steve’s body is so overwhelming that it never even occurred to him that there might be underlying medical complications.

"I'm all right," Steve says. "I still have asthma, I just know how to deal with it now. Some stuff I just grew out. It's fine now."

"As long as you're okay," Bucky says, and they end up clinking their glasses together like they're toasting something; and though they aren't, at least not out loud, Bucky finds himself wishing a future to this thing between them.

Once dinner's done, Bucky helps Steve clean up, although Steve won't let him do the dishes, which would only be fair, since Steve cooked. Bucky finishes wiping down the counter as Steve shuts the dishwasher, and when Bucky straightens up, Steve is suddenly right there, his body close enough that Bucky can feel the heat of his skin. Steve runs his hand down Bucky's arm, pulls the dishcloth away from him and tosses it to the side.

"What do you want to do now?" Bucky says.

Steve wraps his hands loosely around Bucky's wrists and leans a little closer. Bucky's heart is beating so fast, it feels like it's trying to escape his ribcage, and he hopes Steve can't feel it in his pulse. "Well, I thought we could do a couple of things. I've got a couple movies we could watch." His eyes flick from Bucky's eyes to his lips and back again, and Bucky thinks he's probably not the only one who’s hoping that if they choose movies it will lead to kissing. Or whatever.

"Or?" Bucky says, and his voice is unfortunately breathy, but hey, it's not like he's trying to keep his attraction a secret.

"Or." Steve's smile gets a little wider. "Or we could go swimming."

Bucky swallows. "You were serious?"

Steve slides his hands slowly up Bucky's forearms, thumbs caressing his skin. "I could lend you a suit, if you want, but honestly, the privacy fence keeps anyone from looking in."

Bucky's brain is shorting out. Honestly, the only problem with this scenario is getting naked with Steve, which he has to admit he was hoping would happen soon anyway, albeit under slightly different circumstances. Steve's seen him in a swimsuit—it's not that different. Counterpoint: Steve would _also _get naked. He thinks back to that glimpse of Steve golden, tan-line-less ass, and has to bite his lip. The fact of the matter is that he's weak and he already knows what he's going to say.

"Let's go swimming," he says, and is rewarded with Steve's blinding smile.

Steve grabs some towels and flips on the pool lights. The sun has set and when the pool lights come on, they glimmer like submerged treasure under the water, gold and not too bright.

Steve sets the towels on a chair next to the pool and steps out of his clothes. Bucky swallows hard, his pulse speeding again, because it's one thing to see Steve in a speedo and it's another to see him with his actual dick free to the open air. But then Steve kicks his shorts away from his body, shoots a wicked look at Bucky, still frozen on the other side of the table, and runs for the pool, at the last second executing a perfect cannonball into the water. 

A few drops of the splash hit Bucky, cool and refreshing. The nights are getting cooler, but it's still plenty warm enough to swim. He laughs, suddenly light hearted and feeling like a teenager. He strips out of his clothes and leaves them on the chair, not bothering to fold them, and takes a running jump into the pool.

The water is chill enough to be bracing against his skin and he surfaces gasping. The night air feels cool on his face, and the movement of the water feels strange and illicit against his cock without a swimsuit on.

Steve is treading water easily just a few feet away, smiling. The light from the pool illuminates his face in new ways, blue reflections highlighting his cheekbones, a golden glow revealing his dimple.

"How's the water?" Steve swims a little closer. Bucky tells himself not to look dickward. He probably won't be able to see clearly because of the distortion of the water anyway.

"Feels good," Bucky says. "Feels weird, too.

"Yeah? Been a while since you went skinny dipping? This is how I usually swim at home."

"I figured," Bucky finds himself saying, "Since you don't seem to have any tan lines." He feels his face heating up even in the cool water. Wasn't his brain supposed to have better control over his mouth?

"You been checking out my tan lines?" Steve swims closer still, and Bucky's heart is beating like an entire panicky drumline is marching through his chest cavity.

"I—"

"Good," Steve says. "I've been trying to get you to notice me."

The thought of this is so startling that all Bucky can manage to get out is a stammered, "Really?"

"Well, yeah." Steve's eyes look so blue and there are tiny droplets of water on the ends of his impossibly long eyelashes. "I don't usually wear a speedo to the workplace. That was to get your attention."

"It would have worked," Bucky says, "if you hadn't gotten my attention way before that." He's floating in the water but also in his own sense of giddiness. He knows Steve likes him—Steve said as much. But this is even better, the knowledge that the whole time he's been dorkily crushing on Steve, Steve's been interested back.

"When was that?" Steve reaches out, close enough now to put his hands on Bucky's arms, his fingers wet and slippery but still warm on Bucky's skin. Bucky could say something flippant and flirty about Steve taking his shirt off or the first time he saw him dive into the pool—both moments he remembers with crystal clarity—but that's not what really made him notice Steve.

"I liked the way you look as soon as I saw you," he says honestly, "but really it was how good you were with Rache and the other kids. She was nervous to go to practice, and you got her tooth and everything, and when we got home all she could talk about was how much she wanted to go back and I thought..." He winds down, looks over at Steve.

Steve is looking at him intently and his fingers curl around Bucky's arms. "What did you think?" he asks quietly, like the answer is really important to him.

"I thought, this is someone I want to know." He turns his hands so he can clasp Steve's wrist back, pulls himself a little closer through the water. "And I was right." He leans in and kisses Steve.

It's awkward in the water, and Steve's lips tastes of salt like the pool water, but it's perfect anyway, Steve's mouth soft and eager against Bucky's, his hands pushing against Bucky's shoulders, moving him through the water, Bucky discovers, when his feet hit the shallow end and his back comes to rest against the pool wall.

"Do you know when I noticed you?" Steve pulls apart just far enough to ask, then presses a kiss against Bucky's collarbone before he can gather the wherewithal to answer. 

Can Steve hear his heart beating frantically against his ribcage? Steve doesn't wait for him to say anything, just presses another kiss against his chest. "You brought your work to that first practice, but you spent most of it watching Rachel."

"Also you," Bucky manages. "I was watching you."

Steve's smile is pleased and maybe slightly smug, and it looks good from mere inches away as he moves up from Bucky's collarbone to his mouth. Bucky thinks he could kiss Steve forever; his mouth feels right against Bucky's, like this is what they were always meant to be doing, and it just took them some time to catch up. He slides his hands up Steve's arms, over the swell of his massive bicep, over his shoulders, and it's not really that he's fucking hot, or not just that; it's that it's Steve.

It's Steve who sucks in a startled breath as Bucky touches him, both their skin slippery and wet, It's Steve who makes a sound deep in his throat as Bucky sucks on his lower lip; it's Steve who pulls him closer until they're pressed against each other, wet and naked and wanting. And Bucky's been an idiot for thinking what he feels was ever just a crush, because the fact that it's Steve with him here has him worked up in a way he's never felt before; he wants more—so much more—than just a hook up. He wants Steve in his life, even more than he already is. He wants their lives so wound up together that it would be impossible to pull them apart.

He pulls Steve closer, and their bodies slide against each other in the water, and it's obvious that both of them are enjoying this. Bucky slides his hands down Steve's sides, under the water, and pulls him closer so their hips bump against each other and their cocks press against each other. It's not exactly right, but Bucky leans into it anyway. He curls one hand around the nape of Steve's neck and kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek, the soft skin below his ear, all of it damp with the saltwater of the pool, near enough to sweat.

"You know," Steve says, gratifyingly breathless, "in the water isn't actually the ideal place to have sex."

"Did you want to go somewhere else?" Bucky leans in to kiss him again, their chests sliding against each other.

"Come inside with me. Come to bed." Steve looks at him and it's a request and a plea, and Bucky doesn't have it in him to say no even if he wanted to. And he doesn't want to; his heart is pumping a _yes _with every beat it makes.

"Yes," Bucky says, and then he kisses Steve like his body can prove what his mouth just said; and Steve pulls himself out of the water, his skin shining wet as he grabs the towels. He leans down to help Bucky out, and the strength of his arm is dizzying.

They dry off, but it's slow, because they keep stopping to kiss and touch each other. When they're more-or-less dry, or at least only a little damp, Steve pulls Bucky toward the house and Bucky's gut is tight with anticipation and want. Steve leads him in the door and past the framed prints and photographs, down the hallway, to the bedroom, and Bucky is dizzy because it's really happening.

They're both wrapped in towels, but completely naked otherwise, which he can hardly bear to think about lest he burst into immediate flames, and he wants nothing more than to have some kind of sex with Steve as soon as possible, details to be determined, but his brain is squeaking a tiny _wait _off in the corner of his thoughts, and he makes himself pay attention to it instead of diving headfirst into Steve's tits, or possibly onto his dick; he's never taken diving lessons but he bets he could make a good showing anyway.

"Steve," he gasps, and then completely loses his train of thought when Steve pushes him up against the bedroom wall to kiss him, and then follows the tendon of his neck down to his chest. Bucky's goosebumps suddenly have goosebumps, and his nipples are hard and aching to be touched, the towel still wrapped around his waist held up only by some miracle of gravity.

Steve pushes against him and it's heady and everything he wants, but it's not all that he wants. He likes Steve more than is reasonable, he likes being unreasonable. He grabs Steve's wrists and spins them both around and walks Steve back until the back of his knees hit the bed, and they both stumble back and collapse against each other, the towels falling away between them.

Steve laughs, and Bucky's laughing too, because it's a very ungraceful tangle the two of them make, but then they're flat on the bed, and naked, skin to skin, and then they both stop laughing, but Bucky still sees it in the corners of Steve's eyes.

"I like you so much," he says without meaning to.

"I like you too," Steve says, and pulls Bucky against his body. They both gasp.

Bucky is aware that he has a limited window on coherent speech, so he pushes Steve onto his back and kisses his sternum, the center of that vast expanse of sun-brown skin. He lets one hand creep up to rub at Steve's nipple and every pore of him takes in Steve's moan with satisfaction bordering on smugness. "I always want to touch you like this," he confesses. Steve's eyes latch on to his, and they're so wide, almost disbelieving. Bucky wants nothing more than to make him believe. "And I just—hah—" He has to stop to breath, because Steve's hand has found his hip, digging into the sensitive skin there with just enough pressure—it's perfect.

"Yeah?" Steve's voice is low, gravelly, and Bucky's dick got with the program thirty minutes ago in the pool, but it does its best to get with the program _more_.

"I just want to be around you all the time," Bucky says, and it’s not all he wants to say, but it’s the best he can manage. Then he leans over to get his mouth on Steve's pec and the nipple he has never once been able to avoid looking at no matter how hard he tried.

“I do too,” Steve gasps. “I feel it too.”

Bucky’s heart beats a little harder, and he’s turned on, but also he’s just so happy. Steve's back arches up as Bucky gets his mouth on him, and if he thought Steve was hot at the pool, well, he was factually correct, but he's never seen a sight to compare with Steve, every muscle taut with want, spread out in front of Bucky, cock hard because of _him_. There's so much Bucky wants to do to Steve, but, he thinks, they have time. Neither one of them is going anywhere.

So he lets himself tease, head bent over one nipple, licking and nipping, thumb circling the other. He traces Steve's abs with his tongue. Steve's skin is almost dry, but not quite, faintly salty, smooth and soft over the ripples of his muscles. He's wanted to touch him for so long, and now he can.

And Steve is touching him, too, his big hand hot and flat along Bucky's spine, then his shoulder, petting up and down and Bucky slowly makes his way lower.

He wants to make him feel good; he wants to draw every possible moment of pleasure out of him, and he might not be able to do it all tonight, but he'll make a start of it. He licks down the line of muscle next to Steve's hip, rubs his thumb over the bone, presses against it as Steve's hips rock forward.

"Bucky," he moans, and the satisfaction that floods him is some sort of caveman primal contentment that he personally caused that sound. He slides his other hand over Steve's other hip to the base of his dick, running his fingers through the wiry hair. Steve's breathing hitches, and Bucky can't wait anymore, so he licks up Steve's cock from root to head, and takes him in his mouth.

Steve moans out Bucky's name, which is gratifying; it's been a while since Bucky gave a blowjob, and he wants it to be good. But sucking dick is apparently like riding a bicycle or something, because it comes back to him: the way to relax his throat to accommodate Steve's considerable length, the way to wrap his hand around the base when he still can't take all of him in; how to press his tongue against the sensitive underside of the head. But no memory could have prepared him for the way Steve reacts: the muscles in his abdomen contracting as his back arches, the faint chlorine smell, the salt taste of his skin, the sound of his breath as his hands fist the sheets. Bucky wants to commit every moment of it to memory.

Steve says, "Bucky," again in a ragged exhalation, and pulls him up his body, the slide of skin against skin lighting sparks in Bucky's brain. Bucky licks his lips and Steve kisses his mouth, harder and a little more desperate than before. "Please, can I—?"

Bucky manages to get out a _yes _before Steve can even finish the question, because whatever Steve wants to do to him is fine in his book. Steve turns him over so his back is against the sheets and licks a path down his torso, and it feels so fucking good that Bucky is losing his mind already, just from that.

"God, you're so beautiful," Steve says, pressing a kiss into Bucky's navel, and Bucky feels like he might actually float away into the ether, or else possibly burst into flames; equally likely, really. Steve traces a finger in a line from Bucky's bellybutton to his dick, and then swallows him down in one smooth motion that has Bucky thrusting up without meaning to.

"Sorry," he gasps, but Steve just looks up at him, his eyes wicked and dark, the corners crinkled with a smile, his lips red and wet around Bucky's cock, and this is it, this is the moment where Bucky ascends the mortal plane and becomes one with the universe. Steve starts moving, one hand pressed against Bucky's hip, the other bracing himself up, and his mouth is hot and wet and Bucky's never felt anything so good. The muscles in Steve's back flex as his head bobs, and it's far too hot a sight for mortal man to bear but somehow Bucky survives.

Heat gathers along his spine, spiraling up him as Steve bobs his head in a steady, unrelenting rhythm, taking Bucky deep into his throat. Bucky's balls draw in tight to his body and his cock pulses.

"I'm close," he manages to get out hoarsely, because while he personally would happily swallow Steve's come, not everyone likes that and he wants to be a gentleman.

Steve pulls off, but before Bucky even has a chance to miss the friction, he surges up and straddles Bucky's hips. He leans forward to kiss Bucky again, and Bucky feels briefly caged in by a wall of muscle, and oh god, he likes that feeling a lot. Steve rummages in a drawer in the bedside table without ever breaking their kiss, and the feel of his body against Bucky's is solid and warm, and Bucky loves it.

Steve makes a sound of triumph into Bucky's mouth and leans back, sitting up, his thighs bracketing Bucky's sides. Steve clicks the lid on what turns out to be a bottle of lube and pours some into his hand. He angles his hips just a little so that their cocks line up and grips them both in his long fingers.

Bucky's sure his eyes roll back so far that he can see space, but he makes himself look back, because what's in front of him is better than any number of galaxies. Steve's whole torso is flushed, his cheeks red, and he's looking down, intent on his task. Bucky watches as both their cocks slide in and out of sight in Steve's enormous fist, and the visual in addition to the feel of it, hot and slick and tight, sends him over the edge, coming hard over Steve's hand.

Steve keeps going and Bucky feels his cock pulse against his own. Steve's abs clench and he shudders, and his face contorts, mouth open, eyes closed, and he makes a sound low in his throat that isn't a word but that Bucky wants to hear again and again. Come spills over his fingers and drips onto Bucky's belly. He's a mess but he couldn't care less.

He reaches up and slides his hands up Steve's side. Steve shivers, and his eyes open, and he smiles at Bucky as he lets go of their dicks. Bucky looks for a towel or something, but Steve just grabs the sheet and wipes Bucky's stomach and his hand relatively clean.

"Hey," Bucky says softly.

Steve lies down next to him on the bed and pulls him close to kiss him. "Bucky," he says, and it almost sounds like wonder in his voice. Bucky feels lax and loose in his arms, and they just lie there and drift for a while, Steve running a hand through Bucky's hair, Bucky stroking a small circle with his thumb on Steve's ribs. Bucky's so warm and content that he hardly notices when Steve's hand slows and then stills, and he would certainly never admit that he falls asleep, but something happens because the next thing he knows, Steve is kissing him and murmuring, "Hey, sweetheart, wake up, it's nearly midnight."

Bucky sits up, bleary-eyed and naked, and says, "What?" before mild panic sets in. "Oh, shit, I have to get going. I was supposed to be back at twelve."

Steve leans forward and kisses him. "I wish you could stay the night."

"Me too," Bucky says fervently, and then they kiss for a minute, his hands sliding over Steve's smooth skin, because he's warm and naked and Bucky's already late anyway. But it's only for a minute, because Wanda is waiting and he's not an asshole.

Steve helps him find his clothes (by the pool) and his keys (in the kitchen,) and then they're kissing by the door, and Bucky really doesn't want to go. Steve cups his jaw with one hand, his fingertips in Bucky's hair, and it's everything Bucky didn't know he wanted.

Steve pulls away with what feels like reluctance. "When can I see you again?"

Bucky doesn't know what the rules are supposed to be when you're dating someone, and he finds he can't really care. The answer he wants to give is _how about immediately after I leave_, but that's unfortunately impossible, so he can't care if it makes him seem too eager when he says, "I'm free tomorrow if you want to come over for dinner with me and Rachel."

Besides—he is eager.

Steve kisses him again, this time quick and chaste, and says, "I'd love to. See you then?"

And the night is turning into just a perfect memory, because Bucky has to get in his car and drive away. He watches Steve turn into a tiny figure in his rearview mirror, watching him drive away, and he can't help the smile so big it makes his face ache.

🏊

Bucky Barnes is running late.

Bucky Barnes does not run late, not when it comes to getting home to Rachel, but he drives the speed limit and listens to music too loud and sings along.

He will get home, and he will pay Wanda extra as a thank you for staying late, and he will look in on his daughter, his heart big with love and happiness. He will go to sleep and wake up smiling.

He will see Steve Rogers tomorrow. 

**Author's Note:**

> While my son was taking swimming lessons, I brought a notebook or wrote fic on my phone by the pool. It occured to me that maybe I could set something *at* the pool. So here it is!
> 
> ALSO one year ago today I posted my first fic and my first piece of art to AO3. Little did I know how fulfilling I would find making fanworks, or how many awesome people I would meet because of it. Thank you all for making it so great. <3 <3 <3
> 
> ETA I was so excited about this being my one year anniversary fic, i forgot that it's also my first fill for Stucky Bingo 2019!!!! This is for the prompt "teamwork"


End file.
